


Uncertain Memory

by mssrj_335



Series: FinnPoe Purple Prose [18]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Ambiguity, Amnesia, Dissociation, Established Relationship, Experimental Style, Love, M/M, Or Is It?, Or is it aliens, POV Finn (Star Wars), Purple Prose, Reunions, Weird Plot Shit, Weird imagery, look yall ever seen annihilation? that's the vibe we're going for here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:14:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28646616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssrj_335/pseuds/mssrj_335
Summary: Finn and Poe investigate a disturbance in the Force. Finn is trying to find Poe again.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Finn
Series: FinnPoe Purple Prose [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1744870
Comments: 12
Kudos: 14





	Uncertain Memory

**Author's Note:**

> look i get this won't really be for many people but i love annihilation and just wanted to drop the boys in there for a bit

He blinks.

Hands. _Are those my hands?_ He clenches the right—digits draw down. Looks left. Squeeze. Yes, must be his hands. It pulls dark skin taut. Knuckles; bloodied. Where did the blood come from? He looks down. Clothes. Boots. Carpet. Toes? He wriggles them. Yes, toes.

Carpet draws him back.

_Where am I?_

The walls of the room speak its voice, shuddering cries too low to hear in anything but marrow. It settles, vibrating there. What makes the walls speak? He strains to hear. It whispers his own thoughts. He was…looking for someone. Who was he looking for? Thoughts unfold lost in a haze. Meaningless direction.

No—no way out. Can’t find the way they came in. Go back? No. No, someone said only forward.

He was looking for someone. Too long lost.

Are they even the same anymore?

Is he?

The rooms creak.

_How did I get here?_

They came together. Didn’t they? Maybe. Separated in twisting swamps. A helix, their very DNA coiling into the landscape. Something screaming like someone in the dark. His head hurts. They ran somewhere. Memory unspiraled in the dark. He tried to follow. Didn’t he? Tried, couldn’t follow. Lost. He found…something. What was it?

Disjointed.

Fraying apart at the seams.

They found this place. Together.

_How long have I been here_?

He blinks.

Standing alone in the room still. His feet hurt. Hunger gnaws at him but not—not for food. No, the room smells like someone. A breath of air from the crook of their neck. A soft sigh. He wheels.

“Where are you?”

His voice croaks.

Cracks. Cracks everywhere. Everything is coming undone. Who is where? Who is he looking for? Did he follow them here?

…

No. Not followed.

Led.

He frowns. Scrapes the memory from inside his eyes. Something dark, something in the Force. A…a what? It called to him. He’s here. Someone followed and he lost them. What called him? A parallel.

A mirror.

He blinks.

There’s a mirror. But it’s—it’s not him, is it? He stares.

_Is that me?_

The mirror stares back.

It has a face.

“Am I you?”

He reaches out, touches the glass.

The mirror does the same.

Eyes…glistening. Water? No. Sparks on oil slick.

“Are you me?”

He stares.

The mirror cocks its head.

“You can’t be me.” He shuffles a step back. “No, no can’t be.”

The face in the mirror grows larger. Shakes. Hands—not yet hands. Simulacrums of them. Unformed digits paw at the boundary. Boiling, churning—the surface of the glass. Its skin. Shimmering in dark opalescents; purple, green, blue until it turns gold. No. Tan. Eyes burning. Dark.

Familiar.

It reaches.

As if for help.

“Are you who I was looking for?”

_Do I know you?_

Its lips form. Part. Cry out for him. It—he knows him. Curls slicks on its head—a memory—showers, together. Same hair wet with water. Droplets would collect on someone’s bottom lip. He’d kiss them away. Dark eyes, brown. Pleading. He’s seen them plead before. All of it starts to take shape.

He reaches back.

Glass—no not glass, it’s not solid. He can reach through. Grab that familiar hand and pull. A body stumbles through. Familiar scent, soaking wet. He pulls it—him—against his chest. His own body doesn’t feel real but the one he’s holding does. This body feels familiar in a way that cannot be spoken, face tucked into the crook of his neck. Are they searching for the same scent? Words disarticulate as he searches for them.

There’s a name.

And a word for the feeling.

The one he was looking for.

Love.

“Are you Poe?”

The body shakes against him. Arms curl around his back and cling in his shirt. The voice is familiar, too. “I…don’t know.”

He clings to that known body. The only constant beyond the carpet.

“Are you Finn?”

An uncertain spark in memory burns him alive.

Fulguration.

Annihilation.

“I might be.”


End file.
